


Across the Cypress Trees

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [17]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7067038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does one move onward, when the pull of fate is always calling from so far ahead in a direction you may no longer desire to follow?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across the Cypress Trees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samwisespotatoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwisespotatoes/gifts).



> This one is set after Melkor's return from being imprisoned (the first time). This comes from the idea that the Valar, while certainly their own beings free to make their own choices and have their own lives, are still driven very much by the natures they were initially created to embody.
> 
>  
> 
> Please let me know if you have a request! This is actually the last piece I was working on (though I do have maybe one more idea, if I can get it to paper), so any requests would be lovely right now, I promise.
> 
> I'm gifting this to you, samwisespotatoes, because you were very kind in reading it when it was not even half done and encouraging me to finish when I probably wouldn't have. So thank you!

“My lord?”

Sauron knocked on the door of Melkor’s chambers with the knuckle of one bent finger, listening for a response from within. Nothing met his ear save silence - and, of course, the distant cacophony of the day-to-day life of their fortress, which he had grown so used to over the ages, and he easily filed the useless sounds away to some unnecessary part of his mind until they were needed. Now was not one of those moments.

He rapt on the door again, leaving his knuckle against the cool wood after the second knock and tilting his head in mild concern. “I know you are in there,” he said, voice low even as it was pitched enough to carry inside. Still no response. He sighed, trying once more. “I was under the impression, my lord, you wished to see the most current roster for our newest troops. I brought it for you to look over, as requested.”

And again, no response. Not even the sound of _movement_. Sauron felt the briefest flurry of agitation, and he lowered his hand to the door’s latch, his patience running too thin to continue waiting. 

“I am coming in,” he finally said, giving no room for argument - though none came, anyway.

The door was unlocked as he pressed on the latch, and it gave way easily for him to push it open. A rush of chilly air met him, curling around his legs out into the equally chilly hallway. _This_ cold, however, was from a breeze coming in through an open window, and it was the first thing his eyes landed upon as he entered the large, dusk-dark room. Snow rushed in without hinderance, tendrils of it wafting with the wind to catch in the fluttering curtains and tumbling down over a laden bookshelf. 

Sauron frowned, his lips pressing together tightly, and he made for the window without bothering to glance through the rest of the room. The mood of the place was clear enough. Melancholy. _Obviously._ He smacked the stack of papers down on a round wooden table as he passed, perhaps with more force than was necessary, and reached outside the frame to pull the window closed with a neat snap, securing the latch along the frozen panes. Snow melted against his fingers and he shook it off with disdain.

“Why, in the name of all that is holy,” he began, rounding to let his glare roam until it found its intended target, “did you have this open to let all the _foul_ weather inside?”

Melkor was sprawled in a large high-backed chair in front of the unlit fireplace, slouched so far down he was nearly falling out of it. His arms were crossed tightly over his abdomen, one leg set straight in front of him, limp as it sagged toward the floor, and the other bent at the knee. But it was the pallor of his face, pale and ashen, that caught Sauron’s attention, and he paused for a moment where he still stood by the window.

Melkor raised one hand and flipped it dismissively in his direction, brushing off his question, before letting his palm flop back down toward his stomach again. “Why does it matter?”

His disinterest ignited the agitation in Sauron’s chest again, and he took in a quick breath. “It matters,” he snapped, moving forward now toward the fireplace, “because you have allowed snow and water to get all over the books and scrolls and parchments on the shelving. They may as well be ruined, such treasures at the mercy of one who cares nothing for them.”

It was far from the truth. Although - yes, several books had been damaged in the amount of unknown time the window had been left open, and it irked him greatly, as some belonged to him. But what concerned him more was quite different just then, even if left unsaid. He knelt before the hearth and reached for the elegant box of kindling nearby, dragging it forward and rifling through for pieces.

“What are you doing?”

This question was just as disinterested as the previous one had been, and Sauron did not turn to face the occupied chair as he answered. It was obvious Melkor had not moved and was likely not even watching him. “Building a fire. Or, perhaps,” he added snidely, “I am looking for sticks to play with. I am, after all, _terribly_ bored without your attention lavished upon me.”

Quite suddenly, the leg that was bent - and the one closest to where Sauron was kneeling - extended so Melkor’s foot collided, very purposefully and with a great deal of force, with Sauron’s side. He nearly toppled over, saved by his hand reaching quickly to the floor to catch his balance. Sticks and small branches scattered as he caught himself, and he turned a vicious glare to his left. The foot had already been replaced as though it had not moved and, save the faint grin fleeting across Melkor’s face and the debris on the floor, the moment may not have passed at all. His anger flared and he exerted a bit of effort to push it away.

“You are in a sour mood today, it seems,” Sauron said after a moment, gathering the kindling again and tossing it all into the hearth with a huff. “Maybe I should set _you_ on fire, instead. Save us both a headache as I watch in glee as you burn.”

“Doesn’t that sound fun,” Melkor grumbled.

Sauron glanced at him again, not missing the flustered expression as it came and went across his face. He found the flint from the bottom of the box and struck it into the kindling, using a pulse of his own energy to keep the flames ignited on the first attempt. They ate through the small offerings already on the hearth, and he slowly laid larger logs over top, giving them something else of more substance to cling to. After a moment, he stood and brushed the wrinkles - and numerous dirty splinters - from his robes.

“I can only assume,” he said, eyes cast down as he looked over his clothing one last time, “that you do not wish to see the roster I so painstakingly assembled for you.” He paused, waiting for a response that did not come as the blaze at his back grew, filling the immediate space with warmth. “Will you tell me instead what has you so bothered?” Another pause, only for a heartbeat, before he added softly, “You do not appear to be well. It upsets me, not understanding the cause.”

This time, Melkor brought his distant gaze around, drawn, perhaps, by the gentle tone of his voice as he let the annoyance fade away. Something was amiss, he knew it as surely as he stood there, and the fact was hammered against his heart by the strange light in those deep blue eyes as they met his own.

Something softened in Melkor’s face and he lowered his gaze away. “I apologize,” he mumbled, “if I hurt you just now.”

“You did not cause any damage,” Sauron replied soothingly. He smiled, the lilt of his lips bringing compassion to his eyes, and walked forward to cover the few paces between them so he stood now beside the chair. “I might appreciate an apology for being _kicked_ , as that is what you actually did, though I accept what you have already offered.” He reached out, tenderly brushing tangled strands of black hair away from Melkor’s rigid, pale face. “Whatever is the matter?”

“I did not kick you,” Melkor returned instead, avoiding the question that had been put forth twice now. “I merely nudged you with my foot. I did not think you would fall as you did.” Still, he leaned almost imperceptibly into the feather-light touch upon his skin, eyes drifting closed, and Sauron allowed his fingers to linger there at his forehead. 

“If you do it again, I shall break your ankle as I would an errant twig.” Sauron grinned benignly as the words fell from his tongue, even if the threat held at least some genuine sway despite his current kindness.

“My, haven’t you become insolent during my absence.”

“Have I?” 

Sauron said nothing else, hearing from Melkor’s tone that he was not seeking to pick a fight. Or even, truly, seeking to comment on such matters at all. The topic seemed rather unimportant. He knelt near Melkor’s leg, his arm still extended to so he could press his palm flat to his lord’s cheek, his thumb brushing over the pale expanse under his closed eye. There was a pain, deep under his skin as it burned into Sauron’s at their contact, and he pulled at it gently with an ebb of energy. “Tell me,” he murmured, not a command so much as a plea.

Silence stretched taut around them, broken by the crackling of flames as the fire spread its warmth through the bitter chill. It was as though ice were melting in those changing seconds, falling from Melkor’s from, so very broken in that moment, to shatter against the floor and over Sauron’s stretched arm. He pressed his hand more firmly to the cold cheek, unafraid.

“I was gone for quite a long time, wasn’t I,” Melkor finally said, his voice so soft it nestled in amongst the heaviness of the dim quiet.

Sauron shifted his fingers to run over the crest of Melkor’s cheekbone, up the sharp line of his jaw, insistent in their touch to ground him into the present and away from whatever terrible thoughts were pulling him so far away. “Yes,” he murmured, voice sad and as calm as he could maintain it. “You were, for far too long. I thought -” He paused, words on his tongue as he wondered briefly if they would help or harm. “I thought I would go mad, without you here.”

“Such pretty placations,” the Vala said, his flat tone changing to one of dripping contempt.

“No,” Sauron replied simply, “it is merely the truth.”

He continued the movement of his fingertips over Melkor’s face, an easy circle over cheek and back along jaw, and finally - hours or minutes later, though neither cared even a little for the time as it passed unnoted by them - Melkor’s eyes opened, settling immediately with Sauron’s.

“Would you follow me anywhere, Mairon?”

The quiet query, as it arrived through the heavy, warming silence, surprised him, and he blinked slowly, allowing the words to register fully - though still never stopping the passing of his hand over smooth, scarred skin. It was a question he had only been asked once before, a very long time in the past, and it had posed the beginning of this long journey he cherished so greatly, one he had not regretted once since it began. 

_This_ \- this felt as though it were another beginning, opening before them both, and he took a deep breath into his lungs, tasting though his nose the burning of wood in the hearth, the tang of living flesh so close before him, and knew his response as easily as he knew the fire within his soul.

“Anywhere, my lord,” he said without hesitation, their gazes still held together. “I would follow you anywhere you asked.”

Stillness stretched again for an unknown length of time, twisting and twining around them, and Melkor turned his face into Sauron’s touch, raising a freshly burned hand to cup over the Maia’s much smaller one against his cheek. “I lost myself, Mairon, while I was in that horrendous place. I forgot what it was to be whole, to have anything at all. And yet, at the times I did recall who I was, what fleeting memories I had - I remembered _you_.” 

Sauron opened his mouth to respond, perhaps to prevent him from continuing as this odd revelation came over him in a wash of unexpected emotion, but Melkor interrupted whatever he was going to interject with. 

“I did not think about this place, or the fortress we left behind. No,” he paused and smiled distantly, forlornly, tugging Sauron’s hand away and taking it into his own, holding it out from his face to stare at the long, elegant fingers backlit by fire in the darkness. He mindlessly traced the lines of Sauron’s sensitive palm with dull fingernails, concentrating on his words. “No, I recalled you from Aulë’s forge, when our time together was new. Do you remember, yourself?”

“I could never forget,” Sauron murmured, his eyes on their hands. 

His heart was starting to thud, even if he was quite unsure of the situation he had found himself in. Perhaps exactly because of that reason. And yet - he was _comfortable_ just where he was and did nothing to hurry anything along, as he had been driven to do minutes before. This was a heavy moment, important and changing so subtly, and he was taken by the intensity of it all as it unfolded.

“There were so many times, Mairon,” Melkor continued softly, “I wished to return there. Not to the halls of my brother - never to the halls - but somewhere with you as we were before, away from everything plaguing us, to simply _be_. I do not _understand_ , why must I be like this? Why must I desire war and destruction as I do, chase after it so adamantly?” 

He raised his eyes, catching Sauron’s as he did, and the Maia was taken aback by the wave of turmoil there, the anger and discontentment so strong it was tangible as the words already spoken. “I was going to return here, Mairon, and abscond with you - leave this forsaken war and find some hidden place to be at peace, to never bother my hideous brother and my kin again, as was their condition. And _yet still_ , regardless of my intentions, even pure as they were - at the faintest _whisper_ of - I could not _help myself_ from -”

Sauron pulled his hand from Melkor’s and put both of his to either side of the Vala’s face, his grip strong as he forced Melkor to look at him again. He raised himself up onto his knees to come closer to eye-level, gaze steady. 

“It is your _nature_!” he said firmly, holding fast when Melkor attempted to turn away. “Just as Aulë has his metals and Yavanna has her trees, Varda her stars - you bring creation of marvelous beauty where others find only chaos, you balance what is left undone! A worthy task, given to no one other than you among the mightiest of the Valar.” 

His words rung between them, full of truth and so easily spoken for the first time to chase away so much heavy doubt.

“Oh, how I would run with you,” Sauron added with a small grin, his eyes sparkling in the light of fire, “if you had returned here with a plan such as that. And how amusing would it be, to tend sheep or cows or - or whatever other infernal beasts Men keep now - for the rest of our eternal lives after what we have already accomplished.” He moved one hand back to smooth over Melkor’s hair, watching as the weariness eased, finally, _finally_ , from his features as soothing words and touch overcame fears and sorrow.

“You sound as though you have imagined such things yourself,” Melkor murmured, leaning once more into his gentle hand. The Maia simply grinned, for he had done just that, in fact, imagined such wild dreams in the wide expanse of time when they were parted by power beyond their doing and he thought himself going quite insane. He had imagined _many_ things.

“One day amongst these great ages,” Sauron whispered, “one day we shall retire from the madness of war and fulfill this new desire of yours. For I speak the truth, I will go anywhere you ask of me. It is _you_ I follow, my lord, not the drums of war. I will remain here at your side for battle, or I will, as you say, abscond with you to a hillside or some far valley for peace. Wherever your whims take you, we go together.”

Melkor smiled, even just a small tugging at the corner of his lips, and Sauron felt his heart lightened into a great fullness he had not known in so long. He cupped his palms against scarred cheeks once more and traced his thumbs over the bowing of the Vala’s mouth, feeling the moment for deepened words, desperately needed before, had passed as the sadness fell away to be taken in by gentle silence and warm flame, dispersed into nothingness. 

“Will you stay?”

“Wherever else would I go, now that you are returned to me?”


End file.
